It did not take the young people long to become acquainted, and the air of restraint that naturally obtained in the first moments gradually wore away.  They were all in good spirits, anticipating a jolly afternoon at the ocean resorts, so when they discovered themselves to be congenial companions they lost no time in stilted phrases but were soon chattering away as if they had known one another for years.

CHAPTER V

A THRILLING RESCUE

“It must be fine to be an actress,” said Patsy Doyle, with enthusiasm.  “If I had the face or the figure or the ability—­all of which I sadly lack—­I’d be an actress myself.”

“I suppose,” replied Maud Stanton, thoughtfully, “it is as good a profession for a girl as any other.  But the life is not one of play, by any means.  We work very hard during the rehearsals and often I have become so weary that I feared I would drop to the ground in sheer exhaustion.  Flo did faint, once or twice, during our first engagement with the Pictograph Company; but we find our present employers more considerate, and we have gained more importance than we had in the beginning.”

“It is dreadfully confining, though,” remarked Florence, with a sigh.  “Our hours are worse than those of shopgirls, for the early morning sun is the best part of the day for our work.  Often we are obliged to reach the studio at dawn.  To be sure, we have the evenings to ourselves, but we are then too tired to enjoy them.”

“Did you choose, this profession for amusement, or from necessity?” inquired Beth, wondering if the question sounded impertinent.

“Stern necessity,” answered Maud with a smile.  “We had our living to earn.”

“Could not your aunt assist you?” asked Patsy.

“Aunt Jane?  Why, she is as poor as we are.”

“Arthur Weldon used to know the Montroses,” said Beth, “and be believed Mr. Montrose left his widow a fortune.”

“He didn’t leave a penny,” asserted Florence.  “Uncle was a stock gambler, and when he died he was discovered to be bankrupt.”

“I must explain to you,” said Maud, “that our father and mother were both killed years ago in a dreadful automobile accident.  Father left a small fortune to be divided between Flo and me, and appointed Uncle George our guardian.  We were sent to a girls’ school and nicely provided for until uncle’s death, when it was found he had squandered our little inheritance as well as his own money.”

“That was hard luck,” said Patsy sympathetically.

“I am not so sure of that,” returned the girl musingly.  “Perhaps we are happier now than if we had money.  Our poverty gave us dear Aunt Jane for a companion and brought us into a field of endeavor that has proved delightful.”

“But how in the world did you ever decide to become actresses, when so many better occupations are open to women?” inquired Beth.